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    Phantasmagoria and Other Poems
    Phantasmagoria and Other Poems
    Phantasmagoria and Other Poems
    Ebook181 pages58 minutes

    Phantasmagoria and Other Poems

    By Lewis Carroll

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    Phantasmagoria and Other Poems
    Author

    Lewis Carroll

    Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (1832–98), better known by the pseudonym Lewis Carroll, was an English author, mathematician, logician, Anglican deacon, and a photographer. His most famous writings are Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and its sequel Through the Looking-Glass, as well as the poems "The Hunting of the Snark" and "Jabberwocky," all examples of the genre of literary nonsense. He is noted for his facility at word play, logic, and fantasy.

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      Book preview

      Phantasmagoria and Other Poems - Lewis Carroll

      The Project Gutenberg eBook, Phantasmagoria, by Lewis Carroll, Illustrated

      by Arthur B. Frost

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Phantasmagoria

             and Other Poems

      Author: Lewis Carroll

      Release Date: March 28, 2013  [eBook #651]

      [This file was first posted on September 17, 1996]

      Language: English

      Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)

      ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHANTASMAGORIA***

      Transcribed from the 1911 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org

      PHANTASMAGORIA

      AND OTHER POEMS

      BY

      LEWIS CARROLL

      WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

      BY

      ARTHUR B. FROST

      MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED

      ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON

      1911

      Richard Clay and Sons, Limited

      BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E.,

      AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.

      First published in 1869.

      Inscribed to a dear Child:

      in memory of golden summer hours

      and whispers of a summer sea.

      Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task,

         Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as well

      Rest on the friendly knee, intent to ask

               The tale one loves to tell.

      Rude scoffer of the seething outer strife,

         Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright,

      Deem, if thou wilt, such hours a waste of life,

               Empty of all delight!

      Chat on, sweet Maid, and rescue from annoy

         Hearts that by wiser talk are unbeguilded.

      Ah, happy he who owns the tenderest joy,

               The heart-love of a child!

      Away, fond thoughts, and vex my soul no more!

         Work claims my wakeful nights, my busy days,

      Albeit bright memories of the sunlit shore

               Yet haunt my dreaming gaze.

      CONTENTS

      PHANTASMAGORIA

      CANTO I

      The Trystyng

      One winter night, at half-past nine,

            Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy,

      I had come home, too late to dine,

      And supper, with cigars and wine,

            Was waiting in the study.

      There was a strangeness in the room,

            And Something white and wavy

      Was standing near me in the gloom—

      I took it for the carpet-broom

            Left by that careless slavey.

      But presently the Thing began

            To shiver and to sneeze:

      On which I said "Come, come, my man!

      That’s a most inconsiderate plan.

            Less noise there, if you please!"

      I’ve caught a cold, the Thing replies,

            Out there upon the landing.

      I turned to look in some surprise,

      And there, before my very eyes,

            A little Ghost was standing!

      He trembled when he caught my eye,

            And got behind a chair.

      How came you here, I said, "and why?

      I never saw a thing so shy.

            Come out!  Don’t shiver there!"

      He said "I’d gladly tell you how,

            And also tell you why;

      But" (here he gave a little bow)

      "You’re in so bad a temper now,

            You’d think it all a lie.

      "And as to being in a fright,

            Allow me to remark

      That Ghosts have just as good a right

      In every way, to fear the light,

            As Men to fear the dark."

      No plea, said I, "can well excuse

            Such cowardice in you:

      For Ghosts can visit when they choose,

      Whereas we Humans ca’n’t refuse

            To grant the interview."

      He said "A flutter of alarm

            Is not unnatural, is it?

      I really feared you meant some harm:

      But, now I see that you are calm,

            Let me explain my visit.

      "Houses are classed, I beg to state,

            According to the number

      Of Ghosts that they accommodate:

      (The Tenant merely counts as weight,

            With Coals and other lumber).

      "This is a ‘one-ghost’ house, and you

            When you arrived last summer,

      May have remarked a Spectre who

      Was doing all that Ghosts can do

            To welcome the new-comer.

      "In Villas this is always done—

            However cheaply rented:

      For, though of course there’s less of fun

      When there is only room for one,

            Ghosts have to be contented.

      "That Spectre left you on the Third—

            Since then you’ve not been haunted:

      For, as he never sent us word,

      ’Twas quite by accident we heard

            That any one was wanted.

      "A Spectre has first choice, by right,

            In filling up a vacancy;

      Then Phantom, Goblin, Elf, and Sprite—

      If all these fail them, they invite

            The nicest Ghoul that they can see.

      "The Spectres said the place was low,

            And that you kept bad wine:

      So,

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